


Dear Cas

by WickedNerdAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel grace as lube, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Big ole fluffy ending, Dean needs to talk about his feelings, Dean's feelings, Distraught Cas, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Idiots in Love, M/M, Midseason Coda, Nervous Dean, Nightmares, Sad Sam, So much angst, supernatural canonverse, worried cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedNerdAngel/pseuds/WickedNerdAngel
Summary: But the one that he can never get past, the one that always leaves him gasping awake in a cold sweat, is the memory of seeing Cas, angel blade through his chest, grace pouring from him, his body thudding lifelessly onto the ground. He can never shake the memories of shrouding his body, of watching it burn. For the last two and a half years, it's plagued him on more nights than he would ever care to admit.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 128
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Dean And His Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Hang on tight, guys! This one's a ride ! (In good and not so good ways.) I started this fic right after the big DeanCas seen in 15x03, and then procrastinated until after 15x09, and I'm kinda glad I did. It gave me a chance to see how the prayer would go and good lord, it did not disappoint! I very much enjoyed this exploration of Dean's psyche and how he'd handle having to tell Cas exatly how he feels about him. I hope you enjoy as well!   
> (Kudos and comments are my mojo!)  
> *Major thanks to Chriss and Kiera for the quick beta work! I heart you, friends!

__

_"If you only knew, I'd sacrifice my beating_

_Heart before I'd lose you._

_It's 4:03 and I can't sleep_

_Without you next to me, I_

_Toss and turn like the sea._

_If I drown tonight, bring me_

_Back to life_

_Breathe your breath in me,_

_The only thing that I still believe_

_In is you, if you only knew..._

_If you only knew_

_How many times I counted_

_All the words that went wrong._

_If you only knew_

_How I refuse to let you go,_

_Even when you're gone…"_

_~If You Only Knew, Shinedown_

***

Dean startles awake. The sound of a gruff voice saying _goodbye, Dean,_ and the slam of the bunker door take center stage in his nightmares tonight. He scrubs a shaking hand over his face, blunt nails scrape through his mess of hair and he tries to imagine they're someone else's, but they're not. 

He's no stranger to nightmares, never has been. It's just the scenarios that have changed through the years, the players taking part in his torment, and he's not an innocent bystander. He's acutely aware of all the wrong he's done, all the people in his life he's hurt, all the words left unspoken, and even worse yet, all the words that have been flung from his own two lips whether he meant them or not. 

When he was a kid, it was his mom, flames engulfing her suspended body on the ceiling. He still sees that sometimes, albeit rarely. As he grew, it was his dad's voice on repeat. _"You gotta take care of your little brother, boy. Take care of Sammy,"_ as he would watch his brother get slaughtered in every way imaginable. Those nightmares graduated to memories of actually feeling his brother die in his arms for the first time, watching his mom leave him, seeing her lifeless body, devoid of a soul to bring back after losing her a second time, hearing Bobby call him and Sam _'idjits'_ one last time before dying right in front of them, watching _Chuck_ steal the life out of Jack, the smug look on his fucking face. Sure, his mind graces him with images of other people, friends they've lost, but these are the ones that haunt him still on any given night. 

But the one that he can never get past, the one that _always_ leaves him gasping awake in a cold sweat, is the memory of seeing Cas, angel blade through his chest, grace pouring from him, his body thudding lifelessly onto the ground. He can never shake the memories of shrouding his body, of watching it burn. For the last two and a half years, it's plagued him on more nights than he would ever care to admit. 

Sammy never knew how much that broke him, how much it still breaks him, because he doesn't _talk_ about it. Sam's got his own burdens, why would he add that one to the flaming trash pile? The happiest he can ever remember being was when he got Cas back. His _big win_ as he told Sam. And then… it all went to shit. It was a series of events, he's certain, that brought them to the breaking point. Most of them a blur in his memory now. The big event obviously being his mom's death, the tragedy with Jack after, but the catalyst? The catalyst that brought _him_ to the point of pushing away the best friend he's ever had, was Chuck. 

_Fucking Chuck_ , he thinks to himself. Making him question everything in his life. Every relationship. The bond he and Cas shared. It infuriated him to the point of lashing out at the one person, one _angel_ who understood him. Who was always there for him, save for recently, and he's not sure he'll ever forgive _himself_ for that. 

In a way, he's thankful for Purgatory. For the time he and Cas got to spend alone together again. He's even grateful for losing Cas there because, for lack of a better phrase, it made him pull his head out of his ass. He was terrified, desperate, and finally, his feelings for Cas bested him. _Feelings_ . He's always hated that fucking word. He's never had time for _feelings_ , but they've always been around, a ball and chain he's carried with him his entire life, unable to even begin to unpack them. Purgatory, the thought of losing Cas again, it was unbearable; it overwhelmed him, and the raw purity of the place allowed him to finally let it out. 

He was never more relieved when he found that angel, and even more mollified to know Cas had heard his prayer, but there were words left unspoken. He knows it. And for the goddamn life of him, he doesn't know how to move forward. So the nightmares continue. Cas leaving and Dean watching him go, helpless to stop him. In his dreams since they returned home, he only finds Cas's lifeless body in Purgatory. He screams until he's hoarse for him to _wake up_ , but it's useless. It's either that delightful scenario, or he never even finds him. He stares at the rift, no Leviathan blossom and no Cas, unable to make his feet move toward it. The words he needed, still needs to say never able to be heard. 

~

The sound of shuffling in the corner of his room startles him to full alert mode, and he scrambles to grab his glock on the bedside table. He presses his back into the headboard and points the gun into the inky blackness of his room, the thought dawning on him too late, to turn on the fucking lamp. 

"Who's there?" He growls. More shuffling. "Sam, I swear to-- anyway, if you came in my room to fuck with me, I _will_ shoot your ass." 

"Dean?" 

The voice he hears makes his throat go dry. He'd know it anywhere, but he never thought he'd hear it again. 

"M-Mom?” 

He keeps the gun as steady as possible in his haze, feeling like he's somewhere between still dreaming and full agency, but his morbid curiosity gets the better of him, and he blindly reaches with his free hand to flip on the lamp.

The room illuminates, his pupils constricting almost violently against the light, eyelids blinking furiously to adjust. Finally, he sees her. Standing in the corner of the room, looking exactly like she did the… last day he saw her. He lowers the glock, mouth falling open as a quiet gasp escapes it. He moves to get off the bed, to run to her, to hug her, _something_ , but his instincts kick in and suddenly, he's filled with rage. 

_Chuck._

His hand shakes as he raises the gun again and cocks it. "You're not her," he hisses. She only stares back at him with soft eyes. He closes his own tightly, letting out a huff of breath before opening them again. Still, he finds her there. "You're not Mary," he continues, "my mom is _dead,"_ his voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat. "So nice try, _Chuck._ Show yourself, you miserable bastard!" 

"Chuck?" The thing posing as Mary questions. And _oh man,_ does it sound like her. This is his worst trick yet. It enrages Dean even more. "Dean, I'm not Chuck." 

"Right," he snarls, "and I'm the pope. What? You think this is gonna break me? Well newsflash, asshole, that ship sailed a _long_ time ago! Now, leave me alone so I can figure out how to shut _you_ down because you ain't gonna win this." 

He's glaring, his hold on the gun tightening so much his hand's shaking, willing himself to keep it together until Chuck-posing-as-Mary fucking leaves, when 'she' speaks again.

"When I came back," she begins softly, "you told me it was God's sister, right? The one who brought me back?" He doesn't answer, but his chest tightens at the memory. "And you said that God, or Chuck, had gone off with her for a while." Dean's still just staring, unsure where the fuck this is going. "So he was out of the picture for a while, you'd think, right?" Dean's eyes shift, thinking back. "And- and when I left because I wasn't ready to be the mom you needed--" 

"Don't," Dean finally replies, his tone acid. But she doesn't stop.

"Dean, I got your messages. I know- I know you were worried. Your texts asking if I was okay, begging me to text you back… and I'm sorry I didn't reply. And I'm sorry I never told you I got them. I just- played it off like I didn't understand 'texting' or cell phones," she air quotes. "If Chuck wasn't paying attention, he wouldn't have known or cared about that, right?" 

All of the air leaves Dean in a rush, and he lowers the gun. He stares at her a moment longer before…

"Mom?" He whispers. 

"It's me, Dean," she replies.

"No." It's barely audible as he shakes his head.

"Nobody's messing with you… but maybe you," Mary says.

"But why?" He sounds like a child and he fucking _hates_ it. "Why are you here?" 

"I don't know?" She huffs out a short, humorless laugh. "But you need me, or I wouldn't be here."

"What?"

"What you're going through right now, I've been through it." Dean looks perplexed and apparently _Mary_ notices, so she continues. "The longing, the miscommunication, the words left unspoken until it's too late." 

_No._

"When you were little, I went through the same thing, well your dad and I…"

_Fuck._

"You probably don't remember, but he moved out for a few days, just, um…" she falters and looks at him with pain in her eyes, "just before I died." 

"I remember," he whispers, feeling his chest tighten.

"We mended it, mostly, but…"

"But you still had things to say," he finishes her sentence, because he _knows_ what she means and _fuck,_ he hates that he knows what she means. 

“Yes.” She nods. “And, well, I know how it turned out after my death.” Dean’s throat goes dry, his green eyes watery as he watches the forlorn look on his mom’s face. 

“But, that’s not--” he starts, but cuts himself off because he knows whatever he was about to say is utter bullshit, especially given the skeptical look on Mary’s face. So, he rephrases. “How do you know…” of _course_ , he’s a coward and can’t finish the sentence. But he doesn’t have to.

“Dean,” Mary’s expression and tone turns almost chastising. “I knew the moment I met him and saw the two of you together. Every time I saw you two together, even when you argued and fought, it was so undeniably obvious.”

A noise escapes Dean’s chest that he can’t quite place, and quite fucking frankly, doesn’t want to. So, in true Dean Winchester style, he changes the subject. “I still don’t understand how you’re here. Is this even real? Are-are you just a figment of my imagination? Am I dreaming? You can’t be a ghost because Ca…” he clears his throat before his voice breaks on the angel’s name, “Cas said he saw you. Happy in heaven with Dad. So how?” 

“I don’t know, Dean,” she replies. “I could be a figment of your imagination, you could be dreaming… but even if you _are_ dreaming, it doesn’t mean this isn’t real. People see loved ones in their dreams all the time.”

Dean’s eyes shift from side to sign, his mind racing to figure this out. “Or maybe Chuck’s just fucking with me,” he growls. “He sent you here because I’m _sad_ ,” his voice dripping with sarcasm on the last word, “to help me fix this so that I end up _maybe_ having what I want, only for that asshole to take it away from me.” He feels the anger boiling up in his throat, threatening to close it all together. 

Mary sighs. “I don’t have an answer for that, Dean. All I know is that I’m here. For you. And Chuck can’t make you _feel_ anything. And he can’t make Cas feel anything. You wanna know what I think?” Dean tears his eyes away from her because he doesn’t know if he wants to hear what she thinks, but she tells him anyway. “I think you brought me here yourself. You subconsciously need help, so here I am.” When Dean doesn’t move to reply, she continues. “Honey, please let me help you.” 

His resolve falters.

“But--” he inhales a ragged breath. “Sam’s, he-he’s going through the same thing.” His stomach twists because now he’s comparing himself and Cas to Sam and Eileen and holy fucking shit, this is too much. “So, why me?” 

“Dean.” there’s that chastising tone again. “I hate to say it, but Sam knows how to talk about his feelings _with_ the person he cares about the most. He’s been in touch with her since she left. By the way,” she grins, “please give him my blessing on Eileen. I adore that girl.” Dean grits his teeth in response and gives her a fake smile, one that she recognizes immediately. “Come on, Dean. Cas is still here with you. You just need to talk to him.” 

He knows she’s right about Sammy. He knows Sam’s ability to communicate about these things is leagues above his own. He’s witnessed it, even minutely. He’s done the whole clap on the shoulder, bro comfort thing coupled with a “she’ll be back, man,” to Sam once or twice when he’d notice his brother looking especially despondent. But Sam didn’t snap at him, he didn’t try to play it off like that wasn’t what was really going on in his head. No, Sam would just nod sadly and say, “I know. I just miss her.” And those four words were words that Dean could _never_ seem to say out loud. Not even when Cas was… truly gone. All it seemed he could express then was anger. 

“I’m not Sam, Mom,” he finally replies. 

Mary cocks her head to the side, blue eyes thoughtful and musing. “I know you’re not, Dean. Sam doesn’t have the same experiences as you. He didn’t have the same upbringing as you did, even though he was in the same place, did he?” Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. “He doesn’t have the same memories of me, or the same anger you harbor for what you went through growing up.” 

“Dad was…” Dean can’t finish his sentence. Instead he just huffs out a humorless laugh. 

“I know he was,” she all but whispers, “and Dean, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll never be able to make up to you what happened after I was gone. You didn’t deserve any of that.” 

Dean breaks down. His voice cracks as he says, “It’s not about that, Mom.” 

“You’re right, Dean. This isn’t about John. John has nothing to do with this. This is about your ability to tell the person you _love_ , that you love him.” She walks a little closer to where he still sits on the bed, an ethereal glow about her, “Please let me help you,” she begs. 

Dean lets his head fall forward, he feels defeated. He wants to talk about this _so much_ , he just doesn’t really know where to begin. So, he starts in a very personal place.

“When we were in Purgatory, I-- I thought I lost him again.” He sighs. Mary looks a little perplexed about Purgatory, but she allows him to continue. She knew that Cas had died while she was stuck in Apocalypse World, but only by way of sarcastic remarks about ‘the dude who came back from the dead...again’ from Dean here and there. She never could've known what it did to him when Cas was murdered in front of his own eyes. “So I prayed to him.” Mary sits on the bed next to him as he speaks, as he recalls the way he treated his angel after she… and after Jack. “I was so angry when you died, I took everything out on him. I told him I wanted to kill the kid,” he winces as he says that, “because he killed you… a-and I know my saying that almost killed him. I told him he was dead to me…”

“But it wasn’t all his fault, Dean. We all saw a change in Jack.”

“I know,” he sighs, his palms scrubbing over his face. 

“And you know it wasn’t Jack’s fault either.”

“Yeah, I know.” A tear escapes at the memory of that, snaking a trail over his cheekbone, down the hollow of his cheek, finally dangling precariously on the edge of his jaw. “Anyway, I let him walk out the door.” He laughs as his eyes well up again. “He said it was time for him to move on, and I just… didn’t stop him. I wanted to,” he gasps, and Mary places a warm hand over his on the bed. “I was frozen, Mom. Just sitting there watching him go, and I-I-I was screaming in my head for him to stop, but i-it wouldn’t come out.”

“Oh honey,” Mary says, her thumb swiping over Deans knuckles. 

“So when I thought he was gone again, in Purgatory, I prayed. I-I told him I was sorry, that I don’t know why I get so angry, and I forgive him.” He looks at his mom. “I could never not forgive him… for anything.” She simply nods in response. “And he heard me… a-and it felt _so damn_ good to know that he heard me, but….”

“But you needed to say something else,” Mary replies. 

Dean just looks at her and nods, his eyes wide, child-like, and sad. 

"Can I tell you a story?" Dean doesn't respond right away. "I know you don't wanna talk about your dad, but--"

"Yeah, Mom," he smiles as softly as he can, though the thought of hearing about his dad _and_ talking about the way Dean feels about another man still makes his stomach twist and lurch inside his body. "You can tell me." 

She takes a moment, staring across the room as she gets her thoughts together and smiles sadly before beginning. “When we were separated, your dad and me, we would fight every time we’d try to meet and talk about it, or even when we talked on the phone. We just… couldn’t get the words out right, ya know?” Dean nods. Because he _does_ know. “I..” she hesitates, “didn’t know if we’d ever get it together, or ever get _back_ together. But then, he, uh, he wrote me this letter. He actually put it in the mail to me.” She looks over at Dean and laughs softly, shaking her head. Dean smiles in response. “It was a beautiful letter,” she continues, “said all the things I wanted to hear, or read, I guess. I remember crying so hard when I read it the first time, and I re-read it over and over before I finally picked up the phone.” She sighs, the sound is melancholy and Dean is suddenly confused, but he doesn’t interrupt her. “Needless to say, I invited him back home, and that was it, I guess.” 

Dean finally speaks. “That’s a nice story, Mom. But… I don’t know, uhm, you-- you think I should write Cas a letter?” 

Mary looks at him, her eyes boring into his soul. “No, not at all.” Dean furrows his brow, confused yet again. “The letter was nice, but it was just words on paper. Your dad never spoke those words to me with his own mouth. I never got to see the expression on his face when he said them. I-I never got to see that level of vulnerability from him, and he never got to see my face in response to those spoken words.” She sighs, “I think… I think writing down your feelings is a good idea, though.” 

Dean scrubs his free hand through his hair and huffs, feeling like a child once again. “But you just said--” 

Mary cuts him off, which is a relief to him so that he doesn’t _sound_ as idiotic as he _feels_ right now. “I’m sorry, I am being confusing, aren’t I?” Dean nods, but he knows it’s a rhetorical question. “I think you should write a letter. To Cas. But… I don’t think you should give it to him.” She curls her fingers around his hand and squeezes gently. “I think you should get him in front of you, and I think you should tell him, with your own mouth, in your own words, how you feel about him.” 

Dean swallows audibly. His stomach takes a nosedive, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t know if I-- I don’t know if I can do that.” 

“I know you can do it, Dean.” She pinches his chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing him to open his eyes and look at her. “You did it for me, remember?” He tries to squeeze his eyes shut again, but she won’t let him. “Dean, look at me.” He does. “You told me everything you needed to tell me, and it was raw and it was painful, but I heard you. You got through to me because you _spoke_ those words to me. You can do this. He deserves to hear the words, and so do you.”

Another tear escapes his traitorous fucking eyes.

“I love you, Mom,” Dean chokes out, “I miss you so much.” 

“I love you so much, Dean, and your brother. And I miss you both more than you’ll ever know.” 

The kiss she places on his cheek is that last thing he remembers before gasping awake in his bed, glock still lying at his side, bedside lamp illuminating the room. He sits up straight and looks around the room frantically, but it’s empty. “Mom?” he calls with a hoarse voice, but there’s no answer, and he's alone. He sighs, glances over at the small, makeshift desk in the corner, throws the covers off himself, and pads over to it. He pulls the tiny drawer open, takes out some old motel stationary and a pen, and sits down. Running trembling fingers through his hair, he puts the pen to the paper and begins to write. 

_Dear Cas…_

~

It takes him two days, two full fucking days to finish writing this makeshift letter to Castiel, Angel of the- whatever. He barely comes out of his room. His room that is now littered with beer bottles and wadded up paper. He endures strange looks from Sam as he goes into the kitchen periodically for food and well, beer, muttering whatever excuse comes to mind when his brother asks him if he's alright. Cas has been in and out… again, meeting with contacts, going to heaven, trying to find another way to beat Chuck, and if he's being completely honest, he feels like a fucking asshole for holing up in his room, working on his _feelings._ _Cas_ even came by his room once to check on him. 

He hears the faint knock, but barely pays any attention to it, mumbling something indecipherable as his thoughts are obviously riddled with other things. But when his door opens and he hears Cas's gruff voice say, "Dean?" he's scrambling to cover up what he's actually doing. 

"Hey!" He stands up to face him, blocking the desk and its contents. "C-Cas, h-hey, um, wha?"

Cas looks around the room, tries to look past him to the desk, curious fucking angel that he is. "You've seemed… off, lately. Are you alright?" _No._

Dean stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time, his insides churning until he finally mumbles something about research and Chuck and whatever else comes to mind. 

"Is there something I can help you with?" The angel asks, brow furrowed, blue eyes nearly glowing in the hall light. _Jesus, he's fucking beautiful._

"No, but uhm, I'll be out in a bit. M-Maybe we can all watch that new show on Netflix later, uh, The Witching… or… something. And popcorn? We can make it a movie night." 

Cas smiles, and Dean nearly gives up this facãde of _research_ to just _tell_ him already, but he needs it to be right for once in his godforsaken life. "I guess we could all use a little bit of a respite. Just…" he gestures at Dean's 'research' and continues, "let Sam and I know when you're ready." Dean nods, smiles back at the angel, feeling heat creep up his neck and pleading with his own physiology to calm the fuck down before his face explodes.

He lets out a long suffering sigh when his door finally clicks shut again. He's almost cleaned out the entire motel stationary pad before he gets his thoughts straight, and when he reads over what he wrote, he wads it up and throws it in the trash can because _god_ , he sounds like a love-sick _tween._ _How do people do this shit?_

Dean gets himself together enough before facing his brother and Cas for 'movie night,' but he feels awkward as hell through the entire thing. The show is actually called The Witcher, he realizes, and it's not half bad if he's being honest, but he can't stop glancing over at the angel more often than he cares to admit, and fidgeting like a goddamn kid. Cas catches him a couple times, smiling softly, which only makes his heart race faster than it already was, and he's _losing_ his mind. He knows Sam notices because his brother clears his throat at one point and gives Dean a pointed look, which suddenly makes the show they're watching entirely more interesting to Dean. 

But then the guilt sets in. He's sitting over here in his recliner, daydreaming about a life with Cas, while his brother's heart is breaking from watching Eileen walk out the door. Dean feels like an asshole. Hell, he can relate, though, can he ever. He should tell Sam he can relate, but he can't tell him right _now_. So, he sits, he squirms, he sighs audibly on occasion, though he doesn't really realize it's loud enough to hear. 

"Dean." Sam's apparently had enough of Dean's antics because when he looks at him, Sam's got his hands thrown out in a _what the fuck are you doing_ gesture. 

"Huh?" Dean plays dumb. He chances a glance over at Cas, who's just staring at him curiously, and his heart thuds in his chest. He quickly looks back at his brother. 

"You alright, man? What is going on with you?" Sam questions.

"What's going on with-- nothing, I mean… I'm fine." Dean looks over at Cas again, who now has his head tilted to the side. It's all Dean can do not to throw the remote across the room and/or grab the angel by the lapels of that goddamn trench and kiss him senseless. He does neither. Instead, he scrubs a hand over his face, fakes a yawn, and fumbles to his feet. "Sorry, guys, I'm just… I'm just tired." He points a thumb towards the hallway. "I'm gonna go hit the hay. And Sammy?" Sam looks up at him, doe eyes on full alert, and he cringes internally. Still, Dean continues, "I really am sorry, man." Sam's eyes widen a fraction, he looks away briefly and then back at his big brother. His mouth quirks, like he wants to smile at the sentiment, but he just nods quickly in response. 

Dean nods back just as quickly and turns towards the hall. He claps Cas on the shoulder as he passes him, giving a small squeeze, but what he doesn't expect to happen is Cas's hand immediately flying to his own, and landing on top of it. It's such a quick gesture, barely noticeable unless you're paying close attention, but Dean _is_ , and he discreetly slides his fingers up through the angel's before continuing on to his room. 

Once inside, he closes the door and leans against it, his breath leaving him in short bursts. "Jesus, get your shit together, Winchester," he mumbles to himself, eyes squeezed shut. He scans the room, littered with paper and beer bottles, and curses himself. He knows he needs to clean up the mess in case his nosy brother or, god forbid _Cas_ decides to 'check in,' but he feels too exhausted to attempt it tonight. Instead, he walks to the trash basket and fishes out the one important piece. He opens it carefully, smooths it out on the wooden surface, and sighs, wondering if he'll ever work up the nerve to give life to the words he wrote. He audibly groans just thinking about it, and wishes he'd stopped in the kitchen for a damn beer before hibernating. He finally settles on some Zeppelin to calm his nerves, so he grabs his headphones, situates himself on his bed, sans boots and flannel shirt, closes his eyes and lets 'Ramble On' flood through his veins.

***


	2. Dean And His Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is silent. He feels all of the fight drain from his body. He feels his vision going black, but he blinks until he can see again. He feels like he's been punched in the gut by that mammoth thing that punched him in the gut last week. He feels like he's lost his angel all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge thanks to Chriss and Kiera for being amazing and beta'ing this for me super late! Love you!

***

Dean doesn't know how long he's been like this. He may have dozed off because the song he's hearing now is several tracks down from where he started, and he remembers the others as only faint sounds in the background of his mind. He stretches, blinks a few times before opening his eyes to see what time it is, and…

 _"Shhhhhhit!"_ He screeches, his body lurching nearly a foot off the bed as his eyes focus on Casti-fucking-el, standing in his doorway, looking at him. He yanks his headphones off, slamming them on the mattress next to him before cursing again and saying, "Cas, what the hell?" 

"Hello, Dean." The angel has enough sense to look a little chagrined, but he also looks just a little too this side of smug, and Dean narrows his eyes. 

"What're you doing here, man?"

"I'm sorry, I… knocked," he says absentmindedly as his blue eyes probe around the room. And the mess. _Goddamn it._ Dean glares harder. "And when you didn't answer, I…" he hesitates, gaze landing directly on Dean, "I got worried." 

Dean sighs. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, blowing out a slow, cleansing breath. Now is not the time to flip out on the object of his fucking desire. "How, uh, how long you been standing there, Cas?" He asks as calmly as he can. 

"Just a few moments," Cas replies. 

Dean's brain decides to take this moment to remind him that 'a few moments' to a celestial being is like an eternity to a human. _Fucking awesome._ Cas nods, a small grin adorning his too-perfect face. 

"Sooo, you just decided to stand there like a creepy tween vampire and watch me sleep? Nice one, Edward Cullen." If Dean wasn't so mortified, it would amuse him how confusion clouds Cas's features before the pop culture reference finally makes sense to him, and his mouth forms a small 'o.' "Come on, man, I coulda been snoring!" 

"Only a little," the angel smiles wide with that revelation and Dean rolls his eyes. 

"Well, I'm fine." 

"You don't seem fine," the angel deadpans. 

_Fucking touché._

Dean huffs out a breath. "Oh, okay, let me guess. I've been _off_ , haven't seemed like _myself,_ I _drink_ too much. I mean, have you _met_ me? Where've you been the past _several_ months, Cas? In case you haven't noticed, our entire world is going to _shit_ all because your _dad_ decided to throw a tantrum! But hey, let's worry more about my _feelings!_ Stellar idea!" His chest is heaving. He doesn't even realize the condescending word vomit he just spewed until he registers Cas's expression. The angel isn't even looking at him anymore. It's like he _can't_ look at Dean. He looks defeated. 

_Wonderful. Way to go, Winchester. Push him away again. Maybe this time for good, you idiot._ And why is Dean just now noticing that he isn't even wearing his trench coat or suit jacket? Just the white dress shirt, sleeves haphazardly rolled at his wrists. _He felt comfortable enough to come in here half fucking naked, and you're - as usual - being a complete dick!_

Cas sighs, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Dean. You're obviously not in the mood to talk. I'll just… leave you to rest." He pushes himself off the doorframe and turns to leave. 

Dean's never propelled himself off of a bed so fast in his life. He doesn't even realize he's done it until he's scrambling on his feet. "Cas… wait. I'm-- I-I'm the one who should be sorry." Cas stops. He turns back around to face the insufferable hunter, sapphire eyes riddled with doubt and apprehension. "Please don't go, angel." Dean swears he sees a flash of something in Cas's eyes at the endearment. "Come in. Can we talk?" 

"Of course, Dean," Cas sighs, "anything you wish." He walks further into the room and stands awkwardly, in true Castiel style. 

Dean forces himself to walk towards him. He brushes past the angel and shuts the bedroom door with a soft click, his stomach doing acrobatics inside his body as he walks over to the desk and stares at the scribbled motel stationary. _This_ was definitely not the way he saw this going down, but a small part of him is grateful that Cas chose to come check on him. Okay, a big part. A very big part. Otherwise, he'd probably never do it, and the vicious circle would continue. 

"Dean?" The angel asks, concern riddling his tone. "What is it? Did something happen?" 

_Oh boy, did it._

Dean picks up the paper and turns around. He glances at Cas briefly, but his heart threatens to stop beating altogether at the sight, so he shifts his eyes back to his own words. He decides not to tell him how he was nudged into doing this by his dead mother's ghost. Instead, he takes a deep breath, runs his fingers through his hair, and says, "the last couple days, I… haven't been doing research like I said I was." 

"Okay? Dean, what's going on?" Cas's voice is edging on panic, and Dean knows he needs to just fucking spit it out before Cas runs off and smites something that doesn't need smiting. 

It's okay, Cas, e-everything is okay." He holds his hands up. He grips the paper tighter, the sound catching Cas's attention, and his eyes shift to it. 

"What is that?" He nods towards the object in Dean's hand. 

Dean rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. _Here goes nothing._ "Remember, uh, remember in Purgatory? When I said I had some things to say?" The angel nods cautiously in response. "Well, I umm… I've been doing a lot of… thinking… umm… about things." He chances a glance at Cas, who looks like _he's_ getting more and more nervous by the second and just… _what the fuck?_ "Anyway," he continues, "I was thinking a-about… _fuck,"_ he whispers the curse, "about us. About you and me," he gestures between them. "And--”

"Dean." Cas noticeably winces when he speaks. Dean's heart stutters, but he continues.

"And when you said you heard my prayer, I--”

"Yes, I heard every word, Dean," Cas rushes to interrupt him again, "and you don't have to--"

"Yes, I do."

"You don't have to repeat yourself, Dean."

"I'm not--"

"I… don't want you to be uncomfortable." 

Dean laughs humorlessly. "Too late, man, because _nothing_ about this is comfortable, Cas--"

"Then don't--"

_If this angel doesn't stop interrupting him…_

"Cas!" Dean's voice echoes through the room. Cas's eyes widen, and he stares at Dean. "Will you just," Dean works to soften his tone, " _please_ fucking let me get this out?" 

"I'm sorry, Dean." The angel apologizes. 

"Don't say you're sorry, just… let me say this, okay?"

"Okay, Dean." Cas smiles sadly. 

Dean takes a deep breath, trying to quell the panic bubbling up inside him. He looks down at the paper. _Don't read it to him. Just look at him and talk, you moron._ He sets the paper back on the desk and sucks in yet another breath. 

"When we were in Purgatory, and you said you heard my prayer, I was so glad. Cas, I was so damn relieved." Green eyes shift to blue and then quickly away. "But I… I had more to say to you." His feet are aching to pace the floor, but he wills them still. "See, I thought I'd lost you again. A-And when I lost you a-at the same time Jack was born, I cou--" Dean's eyes can't help but slip back up to meet the angel's again, "I couldn't function, man," but what he sees nearly ends him. Cas has his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth trembling as he listens to Dean. Dean looks at Cas's shirt, at his arms, his hands, _anything_ but his face, and he keeps talking. 

"I've… I've never been very good at this shit. Talking about my feelings. I'm sure you know that by now." He chuckles, noticing Cas nod in agreement. "But I _can't_ afford to not talk about it anymore. I n-need to make sure the people I care about _know_ I care about them."

"I know you do, Dean. You're my best friend too, I--"

"Shh, Cas." Dean smiles softly, and Cas obeys. "M-My whole life, I've been a soldier. What-what I felt about people always got sidelined in order to get the job done, ya know?" He notices Cas nodding again in understanding. "I remember feeling love from my mom when I was little, but a-after she died, I-I dunno, man, I thought what my dad showed me was love and I guess…"

"Dean--"

Dean ignores it and continues. He couldn't stop himself _now,_ even if he tried. And he's pacing. As much as he'd tried to keep himself still, he's pacing, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks. "I guess, I just… never really knew what it was to feel that, I-I mean, other than for family, ya know?" It was a rhetorical question because he just. Keeps. Talking. 

"Dean, no--"

"A-Anyway, I thought… I thought that's what I felt for you. You're family, I-I thought you were like a brother to me, brothers in arms, or whatever, a-and--"

"Please stop," it's barely a whisper, and Dean pays it no mind. 

"I… _fuck,_ I wrote all this down on that paper over there," he gestures vaguely, "but I didn't wanna give it to you. I-I wanted you to hear me say it. I-It was a surprise to me, ya know, to-to realize this a-and I… didn't really know what to do about it but, Cas…" he finally _finally_ looks up at Cas. The angel's eyes are filled with tears, wide and almost terrified-looking, his face is red, and he's clenching his fists at his side. It makes Dean want to vomit up all the popcorn he barely ate, so he turns away. He walks to the bed and he turns again, plopping down on it as a rush of air leaves his chest. 

"Cas, I lo--” he feels his throat close completely on the word.

"Stop," is all Cas says, and it's strangled at best.

"Iloveyou," he says in one fluid word. The angel closes his eyes, silent. _Fuck,_ he finally said it… kinda. But that's not good enough for him. Not now, so he elaborates. "And by that, I mean… C-Cas, I'm in lo--"

 _Stop!"_ The angel yells. Dean stops dead and stares at him. It's not anger he hears coming from Cas, it pure, unadulterated panic. He feels sick. He feels dizzy. He cannot feel his own body. 

"What?" He whispers in return, his own eyes filling with tears. 

_"Don't…_ say that to me, Dean. Just _stop._ I _can't."_

"You can't what?" Dean feels his walls building back up. He feels himself getting angry, not so much at Cas for obviously not feeling the same way, but at _himself_ for being so _goddamn_ stupid. "Love me back?"

"That's not it, Dean. I just--" 

"You just _what?_ Huh?" He'd stand up and push Cas _out_ of his room before he dies of embarrassment if he could feel his fucking body, but he can't. "You don't feel the same?” he throws his hands in the air. "Fine! Then just say it!" 

"I _can't!"_ Cas's raised voice cracks. Dean's freshly built wall cracks as well. 

"I can't let you say that to me!" Cas shakes his head. 

"What the fuck, Cas?" 

"Please, Dean," the angel begs, eyes averted to the ceiling, "I can't… be happy." 

_What?_

"What the fuck do you mean, 'you can't be happy?' Cas? Of _course_ you can be happy!"

"No, you don't understand… I can't… The Empty… I can't." He looks back at Dean, his face grim, remorse taking over his expression completely. 

"The Empty, what--" 

And then it hits Dean, like a fucking freight train, it hits him, and his stomach lodges in his throat before plummeting into a black hole somewhere. He wracks his brain trying to figure it out, but he knows, he _knows_ something's up. 

Finally he says, low and dangerous, "What did you do?"

"Dean, I'm so sorry, I--" 

"What did you _do?!"_ Dean stands, the sudden surge of rage he feels bringing feeling back to his legs. 

Cas looks terrified, like a child caught with something horrible, and Dean doesn't know if it's _because_ of whatever he did, or because of Dean's outburst, maybe both, but he tries to calm himself down. 

"It was Jack," Cas begins, "when he died I went to heaven to get him. Y-You and Sam were here with Lily Sunder, remember?” Dean nods, brows furrowed. "The Shadow, the, uh, entity in charge of The Empty, it-it was after Jack."

"What the fuck?" Dean whispers.

"It wasn't gonna let him go, Dean, it was too powerful. So, I--" he looks away from Dean.

"No," Dean shakes his head. "No... _Cas."_

"I offered myself in his stead," the angel blurts out. 

Dean is silent. He feels all of the fight drain from his body. He feels his vision going black, but he blinks until he can see again. He feels like he's been punched in the gut by that mammoth _thing_ that punched him in the gut last week. He _feels_ like he's lost his angel all over again. But then, why is Cas standing in front of him right now? 

"Cas?" he asks, defeated. "How are you here?" 

Cas takes a staggering, labored breath. "Because it wants me to suffer." 

_What?_ "What?" 

"It…" he sighs again, his voice breaking as he speaks. "It wants me to live my life. And as soon as I allow myself to-to be happy, it said that's when it would come for me."

"Fuck. _Goddamn it!"_ Dean growls, hands clenched tightly into fists. He wants to punch something, preferably that _thing._

"Dean."

"So you made a _deal,"_ Dean spits, "another deal." _Don't do this to him, Dean,_ his head is screaming at him. 

"Nothing would make me happier than being with you… in that way, Dean. But it knows! It would know, and the moment I let myself be happy with you. The moment I let you love me and let myself love you back--"

"I'd lose you _again._ " Dean says coldly. But rage takes hold again. "Because. You made. A goddamn. _Deal!"_

"I didn't do it to hurt you, Dean!" 

_You're acting like John. Don't do this to him. Don't be your dad. Listen to him! He did it to save Jack, you fucking asshole._

There are several moments of excruciatingly loud silence and Dean runs through everything he's just heard in his head. What can he fucking do? He can't blame Cas for wanting the save their son. It just… becomes clear to him that he'll never _ever_ have what he wants. 

Finally, Dean scrubs his hands through his hair, which must be standing at all ends by now, but he couldn't care less. "I'm tired, Cas. I'm tired of losing the people I love." He looks as Cas when he says the last word, and the angel's face crumples. "I'm tired of not _allowing_ myself or _being_ allowed to be happy, and here you're telling me you can't allow yourself what we _both_ need." 

"I'm sorry, Dean." Cas is looking at the floor. He can't even look at Dean and it infuriates him, but he quells it the best he can. 

"When's it gonna end, man? This… this loss, and this fucking pain? I'm tired of fighting the way I feel about you." 

"I don't know. I wish," Cas sighs. Dean sees a tear escape from his otherworldly eyes, and he can't fucking take it anymore. "I wish I could change it, I do… but, if I hadn't-- then we wouldn't have had Jack back," his voice quiets to a whisper, "even for the short time we did."

The fight Dean lost just moments ago, comes rushing back to him. He doesn't wanna fight Cas, he wants to fight _everything_ else _for_ Cas. "You're wrong about something," Dean says, walking towards him. Cas looks perplexed. "You said you can't let me love you and you're wrong." He walks right up into Cas's personal space. 

"I'm a millennia old, Dean. I'm _not_ wrong." 

"Yes," Dean pushes him. Cas stumbles back a couple steps. "You are, angel."

"What are you doing?" 

Dean pushes him again, and again, Cas stumbles back. "You're wrong because I love you anyway." 

"Dean, stop."

Dean pushes him again. "And we're gonna find a way to beat Chuck." He pushes him again. "And then we're gonna fight this fucking _Shadow_ or whatever it's called…"

"We _can't_ fight it, Dean!"

Dean pushes him again, and he knows Cas is letting him, because even in his weakened state, he's still an angel. If he wanted to stand still like a goddamn statue he could, and _no one_ could move him. "I'll fight anything. The question is, will you?"

"It's _impossible_ , Dean. Just… stop being so- just _stop_ being an idiot!"

"Fuck you, Cas!" Dean pushes him one final time, until Cas is wedged against the door. "I'll fight! And you'll fight! Because you love me too, whether you like it or not!" 

Cas just stares at him in shock. His eyes drift down Dean's face, and it sets him on fire. 

"I'm an _idiot_ …" he breathes, "because I'm _in love_ with a self-sacrificing son-of-a-bitch like you." 

"Dean--" Cas licks his lips and Dean's resolve vanishes like Chuck snapping his fanboy fingers. He leans into Cas, his top lip nudging the angel's until Cas opens up for him, and he dives in. When Dean's tongue tentatively licks into Cas's mouth, the angel whimpers. His arms, held stoically at his side, wrap around Dean's torso, pulling him in so tightly, Dean feels like he can't breathe and he doesn't care. 

Dean's arms, pressed against the door on either side of Cas's head, slide down in concession of this war between living and dying, one hand cupping the angel's hair, the other gripping his shoulder. Lips press and pull, mouths huff and suck in air when they can, only to delve in deeper, tongues taste, chests heave, and finally, Cas turns his head, breaking the spell, if only briefly. 

"I want to fight, Dean," he breathes, gasping as Dean's lips glide along the sharp edge of his jaw, wrapping around the bolt of it. "I… don't want you to lose me, and I don't want to lose you." 

"Then we fight, angel," Dean murmurs, his lips dancing their way up to Cas's ear. He puffs a breath of air into it as he continues, "stay with me tonight. In here. Please." 

Cas moans as Dean's lips wrap around the lobe, pulling gently. He turns his head back to meet Dean's lips again, gasping a "yes" into his mouth, his arms pulling Dean's body impossibly closer. 

Dean loses himself in the feel of Cas's body against him. His hands slide down the angel's chest, deftly freeing the buttons from their fabric shackles, his fingers ghosting across the toned skin in front of him. He needs more. 

_"Dean,"_ Cas gasps again as the hunter's blunt nails scrape lightly against his nipples. His own nails press into Dean's back, the thin t-shirt crumpling in his fists. 

"I need you, angel," Dean whispers, dipping down to taste the skin his fingers just touched. Cas's hands slide up to splay in Dean's hair, pressing his face closer as Dean's teeth nibble and his tongue lavishes. 

"Yes, Dean, please," Cas begs, pulling Dean's head up, blue eyes boring into green. 

"Okay," Dean's voice is gruff as he pulls away, taking Cas's hand in his and walking backwards towards the bed. Dean's body has gone from fluttering nerves to smoldering, burning desire. He watches Cas closely as he walks, taking in his every move, eyes cascading over every inch of his body, landing once again on those ethereal blue eyes. And yes, he takes a moment to admire his handiwork on the buttons, white shirt wrinkled and wrecked from his ministrations, hanging haphazardly off one desperately beautiful shoulder. "You sure about this, Cas?" He asks when they finally stop. 

"Never more, Dean." 

Dean chuckles, dark and wanton. "Okay, Edgar Allen." Cas rolls his eyes, but Dean's already reaching for him, pulling him in for another heated, searing kiss. Cas moans into his mouth, pulling at the hem of Dean's shirt. The hunter pulls back just long enough to let the angel free him of it, shoves the disheveled dress shirt off Cas, and dives back in, one bare chest pressing against the other. 

Cas reaches for the button on Dean's fly first, the smolder in his belly igniting into a five alarm fire. Cas dips long fingers just inside, just to tease, pulling at the fabric until their groins are flush together. Dean's head lolls back, a gasp erupting from his chest as the angel's mouth takes purchase on his exposed Adam's apple. 

_"Fuck,"_ he groans, fingers tangling in Cas's dark tendrils - something his fingers have always itched to do. Cas sucks and laves, giving deans nipples the same attention Dean gave his, and the man's knees nearly buckle. He moves his hands to blindly reach for Cas's belt, finding it easy enough to discard, and moves to work on the button and zipper. 

_"Oh!"_ Cas cries out, bolting upright as Dean's hand cups his erection, crashing his mouth to Dean's, tongues meeting in a burst of heat. 

"Touch.. me.. angel," Dean begs through his gasps. His tone is quietly desperate, and Cas makes quick work of discarding the denim to do just that. 

Minutes find them on the bed, Cas hovering over Dean's naked form, Dean's hands roaming everywhere they can reach. The angel brings their bodies together, hips undulating, grinding, erections sliding together in sync, throats gasping for air. 

"C-Cas," Dean moans his name. 

"Yes, Dean?" Cas asks against the skin just below his navel. 

"I want… I _need…"_

"What is it, Dean?" 

"Wanna feel you inside me, my angel." Dean's voice is strained. 

Cas slides up Dean's body, lips inches from his as he says, "you can have anything you want, Dean. I just don't want to hurt you." 

"Trust me, Cas," Dean gasps as the relentless angel grinds into him again, "you won't." 

"As you wish," Cas smiles before kissing him again. "Just… give me a minute to prepare you." His hand begins to glow, and Dean holds up his own, acutely aware that the angel's grace is dwindling. 

"Save your grace, there's lube in the drawer."

Cas smirks in response. "It's not that much, besides, why not enjoy the perks of being a celestial being? There'll be plenty of lube when I'm human." 

_When?_

_When_ he's human? 

Cas wants to become human and stay with Dean, and this casual revelation from the angel sends Dean reeling. He doesn't think he's ever, no, he _knows_ he's never loved another being more than he loves the man he's staring at, like a gooey-eyed freak, right now. 

"Okay," is all he can muster without bursting into fucking tears, so he lets the angel mojo work it's magic, and then _Cas_ work his own as he slides into Dean. 

The sensations are more than he can handle and not enough all at the same time. Their bodies fit together like they were made for this, puzzle pieces that took entirely too long to find each other and realize what they were meant for. He stops Cas's thrusts a few times just to look at him, to stare into those sapphire eyes and lose himself. To kiss him slow and deep. To feel _everything._

_"Fuck, angel!"_ He cries as Cas's movements finally tip him over the edge into a place he's never quite been, and he holds on as tightly as he can when Cas soon meets him there. 

They lie quietly for a while after, limbs pretzeled around each other, Dean both stunned and in awe of what just transpired, Cas lightly running his long, exquisite fingers up and down Dean's arm. Dean finally dozes off, feeling more calm and more comfortable than he has… _ever_ in his life. He doesn't realize this, of course, until he wakes a few hours later, tucked underneath his comforter, head pillowed in Cas's lap. Sleepy green eyes blink open to see gentle blue irises gazing down at him as the angel's fingers have moved from his arm to comb lightly through his hair. Dean smiles.

"Well, look at that," the hunter says, eyelids heavy from exhaustion, voice thick and sleepy, words slow and slurred, "you're still here, angel."

Cas smiles down at him. "Pleasure does not ultimately equal happiness, Dean." He smiles a little wider at Dean's child-like frown and subsequent "humph." "But maybe someday we can combine the two. Now, it would seem," he sighs, "we still have work to do."

Dean looks at him with feigned shock. "Hey, that's my line!"

"My apologies. You can say it, if you want to." Cas's voice is soft, soothing.

"Naw, angel, it sounds good coming from you. Especially the 'we' part." Cas's grin could light up the now darkened room, save for the lamp on the bedside table. "Tomorrow, though," the spent hunter yawns. "Tomorrow, we work. Tonight, we sleep." 

_"You_ sleep," Cas corrects. 

"Mm'sorry," Dean mumbles.

"It's okay," Cas says, amused. "You sleep, lumberjack. 

… I'll watch over you." 

***

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't yell at me! (Okay, it's totally fine to yell at me, I deserve it.) Hey, at least there was cuddling at the end??  
> Thanks so much for reading!  
> Please don't forget the comments. They provide me with a well balanced diet and nutrients to keep writing!  
> Love to you all! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for part two!


End file.
